Kasady
by Weird0c
Summary: Ever wonder how Carnage became the raving-lunatic-homicidal-psycho-boy we know today? [Carnage fic. DUH]
1. 1

Author's notes: Any Carnage fans besides myself out there? Ever wonder about how he grew up? How many people he's killed and how he did it? Ever want more details about his parents or about "that incident" his high school principal mentioned to Peter Parker? I sure do! And because there's nothing official out there, I thought "What the hell! I'll do it!" So I've taken lots and lots o' information from the actual comics to come up with this. Most of it should be accurate. If it's not, tell me what isn't and I'll fix it right up. As much of a fan I am, I still don't have enough money to go out and buy and read every single thing he's appeared in (Oh I wish I could!) so be patient…

Now, ladies and gents, I present my second monstrous creation. Have fun an' don't be afraid to loose yer mind along the way.

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"You really are a lazy, spoiled child!"

I had learned by then to numb most of my emotions, because I had learned, for the most part, not to listen and not to talk. Though there were still some things that rattled my cage.

Family's a funny thing. They're all supposed to love and help each other. The model American family goes to church, picnics, flies kites of pretty spring days, says "howdy-do!" to friendly neighbors across the street as they're holding their morning coffee, waving their kids off to school…

The clincher is this: There are so many folks in this world who are so mind-numbingly ignorant that they actually believe it's possible. They come home, get yelled at n' punched and wonder why their family ain't normal. But it is normal! It's the real American way.

No one can sit back and be so blissfully happy and one-sided. It's the mosquitoes of the world that make you angry, getting so fucking annoyed at them that you just wanna squish 'em all. No one in the world hasn't had a thought like that and if they say they haven't, they lie.

You don't act on those instincts. Law keeps you constantly under lock n' key. It's when you ignore law and "act out" that you're really free. I learned that one day and had never felt so good…

My granny, the one on my father's side, was a fat bag of ever-rippling flesh. She was obnoxious, disgusting, smelled like ass, and had one of those screeching voices like nails on a chalkboard that'd make yer blood freeze. If she wasn't so annoying I might have actually left her alone… but she was a mosquito, and like all pests, she had to be exterminated.

"You really are a lazy, spoiled child, Cletus!" that was her favorite phrase. She ended every fucking lecture like that, every story, "No wonder your poor mother can't put up with you."

I had learned not to listen.

She would have her little moments of violent outbursts and wake me up to jab at me with the end of her cane. She never did any damage, of course. Your humble narrator's much too great to ever be bruised by a moldy old dinosaur.

She would tell me stories when she was bored. It was always the same story about that crazy, Brit nanny with an umbrella. She'd put her own spin on it, telling me to be good or else she'd come through the window at night to pluck out my eyeballs. Used to terrify me, but after that incident when I put shards of glass in her cat's food and nothing happened, it was just another annoying thing she did.

I always reflect on that day 'cause it was kind of a "re-birth" for me. Mom didn't wanna have to keep an eye on me and Dad was at work so they dumped me at Granny's. She didn't know I was there for most of the day. I usually stayed in the guestroom. The house was full of empty rooms 'cause no one in their right mind would wanna share a place with a fat-assed, ancient bitch like her.

Yeah, the guestroom was for her collection. Ever try to sleep in a room full of dolls just staring at you with those creepy blank expressions, smiling? It's enough to drive a small boy with red hair and captivating features crazy! HA!

Mom had already stoked the fire when she blamed me for the dog's sudden appearance in the oven. First of all, she left that damn thing open! Second, there was a huge fucking hunk of meat in it! If that ain't a solid death trap, I dunno what is, and I'm practically an expert. I should thank her, though. I learned some of the best ways to make something look like a suicide.

So anyways, she roughed me up a bit and sent me sailing to Granny's where I was oogled at by her cutsie-poo figurines.

"What're you lookin' at?"

Her porcelain face was so smug! That bitch! She was laughing at me!

"You think that's funny, huh? Wanna know what I think is funny? Oh it's great! You'd love it!"

My hand reached up and smacked the figure onto the ground from where It stood on the dresser. It didn't break yet, but it was only that more satisfying when I stepped on its face and smashed it.

It felt good to destroy. It felt fine, but I wanted more. I wanted the figures to be real. I wanted to watch them cry and squirm.

I took another, and instead of pushing it off the shelf, I picked it up and threw it down. It shattered at my feet.

"See? Hilarious!"

Before I could realize what I was doing, the room was a wreck. I had flung the door open, marched right out, and continued to shred those figures and spill their remains along the staircase where I walked.

Then I heard another door open and shut. I stopped and dropped what was left.

"Shit!" and I ran up the rest of the stairs and into the dark bathroom just in time for Granny to stroll on by.

I heard her feet stop at the top of the stairs and her sharp in-take of breath, "My hummels!"

She seemed to care so much about those lifeless statues! I didn't matter at all, did I? Why should she matter to me? Why should anyone at all matter to me?

Then it hit my like a bag of bricks: a horrible, glorious revelation. I could do it… watch her squirm… and cry out… The last thing she'd ever see would be me at the top of those stairs, laughing and having a grand ol' time as she tumbled all the way down to hell.

I slithered out from my bathroom sanctuary and crept up right behind her…

"Let's see you fly, Granny!" I felt my mouth tighten into a wide grin, "Flap them big fat arms!" and I shoved her forward.

She teetered for a moment, then I saw it all in slow motion. First, she did what I had craved and shouted, then she began to fall, did fall, rolling over the remains of her precious little figurines, the sound of her bones snapping like frail twigs, and finally a big "thud" once she landed on the floor.

I laughed, watching her eyes glaze over.

Dad came to pick me up only five minutes later. He found me bowed over the body and silent. He assumed she slipped, so did the authorities. He never blamed me even when my mom did. For some strange reason, even through all the times he's dislocated my jaw, the guy actually liked me.

They kept saying how horrible it must have been for me. Yeah, right! I had to wait a whole five hours before Mom came back with dinner!


	2. 2

Author's notes: Of course, some things are going to become really twisted and grotesque. A lot of this stuff isn't for the faint-of-heart. Don't say I didn't warn you.

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"Only a mother could love something like that" is a well-known and often used little insult. It means nothing in the world would ever be able to possibly love that thing. Well, except the thing that made it. But even then that isn't always the case. See what I'm saying? Frankenstein created a monster, then, as he watched it in animation, totally puked at what he did.

I guess that's the way it is when someone gives birth to a monster so vulgar that not even its mother could love it. I'm flattering myself here. Lemmie tell you where I'm going with this…

It had been a few months since my first kill. I remember dreaming about it every night, like a fantasy put on repeat. I remember after I found that real piece of freedom, I knew I couldn't just stop cold turkey. Fuck no! Why stop at all?

Instead of collecting action figures or playing sports, I made animals my hobby. No, not taking care of them, but instead mutilating their bodies and playing with their insides! Oh, I don't know… it just kinda' enthralled me how much stuff was in there and the texture of it all: slimy, gooey, thick, wet… Some stuff was lodged in there good and I would have to stick my whole arm in there to get it out.

It became an obsession. At first, I would just do it when I saw the opportunity, but then I started actually hunting for neighborhood cats and dogs to torture.

By now, Mom had long since enrolled me into public school and I was in the second grade. First grade had gone by quickly. The teachers had to educate my parents about how "special" I was. I've always wondered if they were talking about the "everyone is special" special or "the short bus" special 'cause it worked both ways, you know?

Yeah, came home one day from finger-painting and had red paint all down my clothes. Red's my favorite color, so I happily spilled it over my head and stalked around the class scarin' the girls, telling them that this is what happens when they hit puberty and start getting monthly visits from the devil.

When I got home, I tried to rush up to my room and change before Mom caught me, but she was oh-so-perfectly standing in the doorway, waiting for me when I got there. She did this a lot. She knew what time I'm s'posed to be home if I don't go run around for a while, and she always suspects I've done something I shouldn't have.

Like some rodeo bull, the sight of red on my shirt wound her into a nice fit. She reached back and slapped a hand across my face, this time sure enough to catch my cheek with her nails, and left a good throbbing sting. Then she proceeded to shove me up against the wall and tear the stained clothes away without having to lift it over my head.

By the time she was done with me I was sprawled out in the corner with my body screaming in pain. I had learned not to talk back. I had learned not to fear pain. It was just another side effect of life after all.

Then that damn dog.

I suppose it saw my mother whoopin' up on me and decided it was fun so it took a nice hunk out of my side with its teeth.

"Fucking mut!" and I gave it a good smack in return. That earned me another series of scratches. My mom always did like that dog better than me…

Things weren't always this chaotic, but the more I was bored, the more I wished it was. These were the years when I learned that chaos was fun, especially when you're the one fuelling it.

So my mom was taking a bath that night. I saw the flicker of the TV in there from the hallway and it hypnotized me like a fly heading towards a zapper on the back porch of some hillbilly ranch.

"Cletus?" I was there beside her, behind the small television, watching her watch me.

My arm flew back, her eyes followed it, and her face morphed into one of horror as she realized exactly what I was doing.

The bitch got out of the water not a millisecond before the television sank into where she had just been a moment before.

She stood there with that petrified expression for the longest time like she was in complete disbelief of what I had just done. It gave me such a rush, that face. What was even better was that it was my Mom who was making it. It was the first time I had ever seen fear in her eyes because of me.

She ran from the room and I was left dumbfounded 'cause I wasn't punished! That's when I began to think.

So, it's fear that makes things work? If she fears me, she'll respect me. Damn bitch. She never does anything to me when Dad's around. She's afraid of him! It all made sense.

Later, when Dad did come home, I heard them talking about what I had tried to do. Stupid guy wouldn't listen, said my mom was loosing it, silenced her… I sighed and smiled, leaning back against the wall. Chaos was so much fun. You don't even have to participate in it to enjoy it!

A single day passed. I went to school. The teacher observed that I was eerily silent that day. She tried to ask me what was wrong, but when I smiled at her, a wide, malicious grin, she coughed and turned to walk away as if she hadn't seen it… or was trying to forget.

I got home and Mom was in the kitchen. She asked me how my day was. I didn't reply.

Ever had a funny craving all the sudden like you're waiting in line for a movie and all the sudden you want cotton candy? That's what it was like when I passed the basement door and suddenly got an itch to bleed something. Anything. And that was when that fucking dog ran past me and trotted down, through he door, and into the basement. It was like a holy sign or something.

I followed it and shut the door behind me.

The basement was my dad's workshop. His hobby was carpentry, which made for some very fun tools. I started to play a game where I was the executioner selecting the weapon of choice, letting my hand touch each one of the tools: a saw, sandpaper and… Ooh! An electric drill! This would be very fun.

I turned around with the drill in my hand, squeezing the trigger to see if it was plugged in and working. It responded with a mechanic whir. By now the dog was scratching at the door. Made it easy for me to scoop it up.

It squirmed, it howled. I loved when stuff did that. There was a jerk and a high-pitched yip when I placed the drill to its head and shoved it on through. The bit fell through and exploded out the other side, red and gray goop went flying all over the wall. The dog's body gave one last twitch and fell limp. What a mess it made!

Of course, I had to do my own exploring, ripping open its belly, trying to make heads or tails of the insides… Found its heart. Looked pretty black to me. Explains a lot. Held it in the palm of my hand… crushed it…

That's when I heard the door fly open and quickly scattered to the wall close to the stairs where the person who entered wouldn't be able to see me. I still had the drill in my hand, "Cletus! Have you seen Fifi? What was all that yowling about?"

She stopped. Saw the mess.

"Oh! Nooo!" it was a morbid shriek and it only filled me with a stronger urge to mutilate.

When she started down, I tugged on the cord of the drill. It lifted in front of my mom and caught her ankle. She fell face-first into the ground.

Looking back at me with the blood-stained drill in my hand, she didn't scream or run like I expected, but rather gritted her teeth and rose, "You little monster!"

The drill was slapped from my hands as she grabbed a knife from my dad's workbench and turned it on me, caught me by the throat. I was suffocating, staring at my reflection on the cool metal of the blade rushing towards my face.

Lucky Dad came home when he did.

…Finished her off with the head of a hammer… smashed her up beyond recognition… I watched, biting my lip in an orgasm of awe. I wish I had been given a turn… Humans look different that animals when they're killed. It's much more satisfying when the cry is in English and can be understood…. That "No! Stop!" and the grip of shaking hands on your arms, trying to pry you off…

The cops came by quickly, walking in on Dad finishing Mom off. Seems the neighbors heard Mom's hollering, said it wasn't the same they usually hear.

You should have heard Dad screaming at me all through the trial when I told them he killed Mom for no reason at all…


End file.
